Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Five

Posted on Thursday, 25 May 2006

"Well, Jenny? What do you think?"

Jane laughed, and looked away. "Lizzy, please. You must be serious."

"Oh no, your own gravity is sufficient to account for my share."

"Well," Jane persevered, "I think it is very pleasant." Elizabeth blinked. "Everyone is so kind, and they make us feel as if we belong here. At least, that's what I feel. I am sorry we are not sisters, though, but I was afraid we would not be related at all, so . . . besides, it's almost as if we are all brothers and sisters together, isn't it?"

"Yes, rather," said Elizabeth, carefully not thinking of Darcy. "They all use Christian names, so I suppose they must have all been raised together."

"Yes, that's what Fitzwilliam said."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "Fitzwilliam?"

"My brother." At Elizabeth's astonished look, she said, "Well, I can hardly call him ‘Mr Darcy,' can I? Any more than I would call Georgiana ‘Miss Darcy.' "

"You knew Mr Darcy, though," Elizabeth pointed out. "That makes it different."

Jane considered this. "I don't think so, not really. Not for me. I couldn't call him ‘Mr Darcy' now. Besides, it would be inappropriate to call him that, at least to his face --- his feelings might be hurt! Of course I know him so much better now, but I always liked him . . . in some ways this has not been very hard at all."

"What ways?"

Jane looked uncomfortable. "Having a brother, not being the eldest. Papa did his best but he did not have a . . . very active personality." She had no difficulty in dividing ‘Mr Bennet' who had conspired in her kidnapping from her beloved ‘papa.' "Fitzwilliam is different. He seems . . ." She hesitated --- "more interested in me, for one. He asked a great many questions, and he told me things. Do you know that I'm nearly a year older than we thought? And he said I'm in a painting at Pemberley." Suddenly she caught her breath. "Lizzy, I have been so happy and so excited that I didn't think about mamma or Mary and Kitty and Lydia at all. I just want to forget. Is it very wrong of me?"

"No, of course not. Jane, your thoughts are your own."

"Fitzwilliam said the same thing. He said, er, ‘every man has a property in his own person*.' Yes, that was it. And women too. We own ourselves. It was a very nice thought, really."

"Very nice," said Elizabeth, laughing, "if not entirely original."

"It sounded like he was quoting somebody important," Jane agreed, industriously plaiting primroses. "I did feel rather badly about it, last night. It was the first time I thought about Kitty and Mary and Lydia. I want them to be happy, really, I do. But -- " she cheered -- "mamma didn't want us after I refused Mr Bingley, and I daresay Mr Collins and Charlotte shall take care of the girls. Since I can't do anything, I don't see why I should worry -- but I still felt that I ought to."

"You did not refuse Mr Bingley," Elizabeth, with some authority in such matters, corrected.

"Well, I did not accept him either. It would not have been right. And now . . . I hardly know what to think. But he is such good friends with my brother that I daresay we shall meet again, and often, too."

Elizabeth looked at her. She realized that Jane had a rare ability to completely disregard what was not immediately before her, and adapt herself to her present circumstances, whatever those circumstances might be. She was the mother, the peacemaker, the voice of caution and tolerance, and whether as Miss Bennet or Miss Darcy, she required no endearing qualities in her family to love them unconditionally, and spared little thought for those outside the charmed circle. Not for the first time, she wished herself a little more like Jane.

"They have been so very kind," she was saying. Elizabeth started.

"Who has?"

"Fitzwilliam and Georgiana."

Mr and Miss Darcy. But no -- Georgiana was no longer Miss Darcy. So much had happened that she had scarcely thought of her youngest cousin. She was easy to overlook; although handsome, she was not striking, and in the company of her more colourful relations, faded into obscurity. And then, Mr Darcy. She wished she knew what she felt towards him. He was -- he was -- she did not know what he was. She was starting to think she did not know him nearly so well as she had thought she did. He was so different. Of course, whenever she had known him, his friends had observed that he was behaving in a manner unlike himself; but she had never really believed it.

"I know you do not like Fitzwilliam, Lizzy, but . . ." Jane flushed deeply. "That is, I would wish . . ."

"Jane, I do not dislike Mr Darcy," Elizabeth said. "I think I could like him a great deal, if he would stand still long enough for me to make an accurate sketch of him."

"But you do not draw!"

"A sketch of his character," Elizabeth replied. "How can I like him, if I do not know who he truly is?"

"People are always changing, you always said so, just not the essentials. We all act differently in different places, don't we?"

Her own words came back to her. *In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was.* "Not so differently that one wonders whether we are a set of triplets!"

"Well, he doesn't seem very different to me. I always liked him, and I still do."

"You are always so perfectly right, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth laughed.

"Lizzy!" Jane, with an almost mischievous look, flung the circles of flowers at her in vengeance, and Elizabeth sniffed before settling it on her hair.

"Do I like very elegant now, dearest of cousins?" she asked, sticking her nose in the air.

"Like a princess," Jane assured her, before starting at the sound of a horse galloping along the path next to them. Georgiana expertly guided the mare away from them, before sliding off and smiling at them.

"There you are," she declared, smiling shyly. "My grandmother wants you both." Her eyes lifted to the circlet of primroses. "Oh, how pretty you look. May I have one?"

All of Mr and Mrs Bennet's parents had died before Mary's birth, and Elizabeth had never been able to remember them. Somehow, as she looked into her grandmother's fierce blue eyes, the emptiness at the more-than-loss of her father began to vanish. Lady Fitzwilliam was not merely her blood, but her father's mother. It was different. And although she yet knew nothing of her, Elizabeth felt that there was something unusual and fascinating beneath the placid respectable surface.

"Are you coming, Cecily?" Lady Fitzwilliam said in surprise.

"Yes, Elizabeth wants me," Cecily declared. Then something uncertain crossed her face. "At least . . ."

"Yes, I do," Elizabeth said firmly.

As they rode through the village, she looked about interestedly. It was not like Longbourn or even Meryton, but larger and more prosperous. There was none of the comfortable familiarity she recalled; the villagers' manner towards the countess and Cecily was a respectful deference, even as they eyed Elizabeth and Jane with avid curiosity.

Mrs Martin was a large, bustling woman, who despite her cheerful manner seemed rather anxious. "These are my granddaughters, who have been returned to us," Lady Fitzwilliam said. Mrs Martin's eyes widened, but she confined herself to a polite: "Oh, isn't that nice?"

Elizabeth was certain the news would be all over the village within an hour after their departure.

If she were strictly honest with herself, she was not terribly particular about her clothes. She liked a fine dress or trinket as much as the next woman, and she enjoyed knowing herself to be attractive, but not enough to expend a great deal of time, energy, or money, on the effort. Nevertheless, she had no intention of wearing some of the concoctions Lady Fitzwilliam and Mrs Martin had decided on for Jane. It was partly vanity, as she did not have Jane's figure, but mostly a matter of personal preference.

"White is ever so much smarter than yellow," Mrs Martin argued.

"I really would prefer yellow, ma'am," Elizabeth said.

"Miss Fitzwilliam, white would suit your colouring much better. You have such . . . unconventional looks -- "

The confrontation between two such willful people might have gone on interminably, had not Cecily intervened. "Oh, you cannot really think that you will need only one dress, Elizabeth. White is always elegant, it would be perfect for a more formal gown, with the yellow more suitable for ordinary wear. You do remember that lovely yellow muslin you made for me last month, Mrs Martin? Elizabeth was just admiring it yesterday."

Elizabeth decided there was more to Cecily than met the eye. Fortunately, their tastes were in nearly perfect accord, which made her cousin an even more desirable companion, for this sort of expedition, than Jane had ever been. She took a childish pleasure in pretty things, while her whimsical, unaffected ways kept her from giving offence. As they made their choices, Elizabeth was astonished to find herself giggling like a girl just out, attracting the attention of their relations and several other patrons. Jane seemed pleased, and the countess smiled serenely before continuing to outfit her in a manner befitting Miss Darcy of Pemberley.

It was only towards the end of the visit, however, when Mrs Martin called out, "Charlotte! Charlotte, come here, I need you!" that her interest was well and truly piqued. She was not certain what she expected to find. Perhaps a young, innocent -- or formerly innocent -- girl like herself, or a shameless woman preying upon the future earl. Whatever it was, the reality of Charlotte Martin astonished her. She was a young woman of about twenty-six, and although not plain, she was so severe in both manner and appearance that it seemed little short of impossible that she should have attracted a man such as Edward.

With scarcely a word spoken between them, Cecily and Elizabeth turned to the girl. "Oh, thank you," Elizabeth said as she accepted the ‘accidentally' dropped pin. Miss Martin simply nodded.

"I do not believe you have met my cousin yet?" Cecily began. "This is Miss Elizabeth Fitzwilliam."

Miss Martin dropped a brief curtsey, her eyes fixed on the floor, but Cecily, undeterred, lowered her voice and said, "She was kidnapped you know. So was Miss Darcy. But they found out and apparently some relation of the family who took them told my cousin Milton and he saw them and Darcy had already seen them and guessed -- or something like that -- and now they are back. Isn't it wonderful?" Both cousins watched carefully throughout Cecily's monologue, and were gratified, if displeased, to see her blush at the mention of Edward's name.

"You must be very pleased," she murmured, in the most nondescript voice Elizabeth had ever heard.

"I am," she replied firmly. Miss Martin blinked at her. "It was such a stroke of fortune that . . . Darcy -- " It was remarkable, the difference a ‘Mr' made; it felt more than disrespectful, wrong to refer to him in such a manner, aloud -- "knew Mr Gardiner. He is the one who met with Milton." And yet the names of the others fell off her tongue with almost embarrassing ease. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh," Miss Martin said dully. "How nice." Even she seemed aware that this was insufficient to the occasion, and so added, "Mr Darcy is very kind."

"He is," Cecily interjected, then as she jarred the other woman's arm, gasped. "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry -- I have always been so clumsy -- but let me help, please."

"Thank you."

After a moment, Cecily continued, "He is a very different man from Lord Milton, don't you think?"

"I suppose so."

"Although they look alike, and there is a certain similarity in their manner. My uncle's influence, I suppose. Milton is not as handsome as Darcy, though."

A bit of colour came into Miss Martin's cheeks. "Oh, do you really think so? I should not --" she began unguardedly. Then she stopped, a flicker of suspicion entering her dark eyes.

"They are both very handsome," Elizabeth said diplomatically, casting Cecily a sharp look.

"Which do you prefer?" her cousin asked lightly.

"Oh! Mr Darcy, to be certain." Then she blushed, fearful of having exposed -- something. "But, of course . . . that is because he is younger, and fairer. Milton is more -- melancholy and brooding, like the hero out of a novel."

Miss Martin muttered something in so low a voice that it was rendered almost entirely inaudible to both girls. Elizabeth thought she had said something about the lace for the gown.

"There is certainly less mystery about Darcy," Cecily said, examining her hands. "Even my uncle doesn't know everything that Milton has gotten up to, while Darcy is just the sort of son that every man wishes he had. I don't think he ever gave either of my uncles a moment of trouble. I suppose it was because he always had such a good guide of what not to do in that dreadful charity case of my uncle's. It just goes to show, that even the best of educations cannot overcome a faulty character. He was always the most unpleasant person, so when we heard about his indiscretions -- that Wicked person, although I don't think that was his real name -- "

Elizabeth laughed. "Mr Wickham, you mean? Would you guess, Cecily, that I met him, too, in Hertfordshire? He and -- Darcy -- both ended up there, quite by accident, where I first met him. I don't think one county is too small for the two of them."

"No, indeed," Cecily agreed. "It's just lucky that Richard or Milton didn't go with him -- they probably would have shot him on sight."

Miss Martin gasped, then began, "I did not think -- "

"I beg your pardon?" Cecily turned her head. "It looks like those are all your buttons. I am sorry."

"It is quite all right, Miss Fitzwilliam." With a curious expression that Elizabeth could not decipher, she hurried away, her eyes demurely lowered and her entire look as colourless as ever. The two cousins gazed at one another in bewilderment.

"It is terribly unfair," Cecily said in a lowered voice. "I hate to think such a thing of him, but I can only imagine Edward took advantage of her in some way. Of course he could not marry her -- "

"Of course," Elizabeth repeated. "Why ‘of course,' cousin? Earls' sons have married tradesmen's daughters before, and you said that her father was respectable."

"Rich tradesmen's daughters," Cecily corrected. "That makes all the difference, and even then, it is not wholly desirable. Not for people like us."

"Are we so very different?" She did not believe it for a moment.

"No . . . but -- we are not -- not fast, you know. It's one thing to marry a merchant's daughter with thousands and thousands of pounds to her name, if your estate is mortgaged to the hilt, and you are struggling to live at standards that would put a modest gentleman to shame, and you are respectable enough in yourself to afford a connection of that sort. We don't need that kind of money, though, my uncle is very rich. We are not a very ancient family, either. It's interest and respectability that's important for us, especially since . . ."

"Since?" Elizabeth prodded. Cecily looked away.

"We're not supposed to talk about it," she said, clearly longing to divulge the secret as much as Elizabeth was to hear it; but both had too delicate a sense of honour to press the matter any further, and after a brief, awkward silence, Cecily began chattering about the beautiful set of pearls Elizabeth now owned.

"They say Lord Everill spent five hundred pounds on her wedding clothes, even though it was so dreadfully quick a marriage. It's odd that Uncle James should have married well -- it's not as if he cared twopence about such things."

Elizabeth, for the first time, felt a small thread connecting her to those long-dead Fitzwilliams who had given her life. Darcy's snobbery no longer startled her; she only wondered that he had lowered himself to befriend Bingley. Her lips twitched at the thought. What would they think when Jane accepted a landless tradesman's son with only a moderate fortune and amiable manners to recommend him? She would have looked forward to it with something like glee, were she not so concerned for her cousin's sake. Jane would do anything rather than inspire contention.

Chapter Six

Posted on Sunday, 28 May 2006

Elizabeth felt, almost, that she had not understood Jane at all, nor anyone else, not even herself. Jane really seemed to think the Fitzwilliams were her family -- and they were, which made it all the more bewildering for Elizabeth herself. They were blood, and the ties of kinship could not be set aside; yet, without the habits of dependence, the connections that were built through years and years of shared experiences, it was impossible to feel it quite the same. Not so for Jane, however. Elizabeth was not sure whether she more envied her the ductility of her temperament, or felt disturbed at the ease with which Jane had transformed herself into what she thought she ought to be.

Regardless, she was not and could not be Jane. She could not say exactly what she felt toward them. It was odd and thrilling to pass a family portrait and see her own eyes set in another's face. Cecily she had instantly formed an almost sisterly tie with. She had never felt herself a steadying influence on anyone -- she had tried with Kitty and Lydia, to no avail, but Cecily was older, and felt the weight of who and what she was far more keenly than they ever had -- more keenly than Elizabeth did, for that matter. Whether a gentleman's daughter or earl's niece, she was who she was, and she did not trouble herself much with it; not so Cecily. She seemed unable to forget that they had been dropped on the Earl's doorstep with scarcely a by-your-leave, and felt herself a sort of inflated poor relation. Behind her high spirits and confident manner, she seemed lost, and there was something bizarrely child-like in her need for praise and approval.

Elizabeth could not feel she knew the others as well. Nearly all of her time was spent with Cecily, James, or Jane in that first little while, except the early mornings. Elizabeth was a creature of habit -- she had to be, or else she forgot what she had intended to do before she got around to doing it -- and every morning, she went to the library at six-thirty, enjoying the time to herself, watching the sunrise, and perusing the earl's extensive collection of books. Within two days she realized that Darcy shared this quality, and it was only his schedule which differed; he entered the library promptly at seven o'clock. At first, it was inevitably awkward, and Elizabeth seriously considered altering her habits so that they would not meet outside of company. She dismissed the idea as cowardice, and instead decided that they might as well be friends, since they would be thrown together a great deal, they were cousins, and she already knew she liked him -- how much she could not say.

It was the third morning, and Elizabeth glanced down at the stack of books he had abandoned the evening before. Although the others often enjoyed the library in the evenings, and left scattered piles of books to return to at future notice, only Darcy left his stacked perfectly straight, in alphabetical order. She found his tastes both very characteristic and amusingly sparse of light reading. Novels were particularly few and far between.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," he greeted her, no longer surprised as he had been the last two times. She was reminded of their many "accidental" meetings at Rosings, and quite for the first time, realized how her reaction must have appeared to him. This time, she meant for no such misunderstanding to take place.

"Mr Darcy," she said, smiling. "Have you seen my brother?"

"Yes, he is preparing his sermon."

"I hope he is not putting too much effort into it." She glanced sideways at him to see if he had taken her meaning; he replied easily,

"I daresay he knows that everyone's attention will be fixed on you and Jane," he said frankly. "James is a clever man."

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment. "That is what he said about you, sir."

Darcy looked taken aback -- whether it was at James' compliment or the "sir," she could not say. "Did he? How very . . . generous of him."

Elizabeth smiled, absently disordering his pile of books. James had a distinctly critical bent, like the rest of the family (except Jane and Georgiana, of course, who seemed largely unaware that other people had any flaws at all), and seldom gave unbridled praise. "He also said that you are not very observant."

Darcy laughed ruefully. "I suppose not." He straightened the books.

"It was when he was telling me about Edward and Miss Martin," she continued evenly, bending her head down. She could hear his quickly-indrawn breath. "Only because we overheard when you all were talking to Edward about her."

"We?"

"Cecily and I."

"Oh. Cecily." Clearly, that explained everything -- unsurprisingly. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, but awkward as it was, Elizabeth was glad she had told him. She did not like secrets, now less than ever. Of all the family, she felt -- irrationally, given how perversely he insisted upon defying her expectations -- that she knew him best. Not his character, perhaps; but she had always assumed, with very little reason, that the ideas underlying their more superficial behaviour and prejudices were the same. "What do you think of it?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

He lifted his head, looked directly at her. "What do you think about it? Edward is as much your cousin as he is mine."

"He would be rather less inclined to listen to me," said Elizabeth, "he seems to think I am a damsel in need of protecting. He is -- surprisingly chivalrous."

"I do not think even he realizes how contradictory he is, sometimes. Surely, though, you have opinions -- Elizabeth, you always have opinions."

She laughed. "I cannot understand it. He . . . he really does love her, or he thinks he does. Yet he dishonoured her. I met Miss Martin, when we had our dresses made. She is rather peculiar, too. Somehow I cannot think of her as simply falling prey to Edward's charms, even were he that sort of man. How long . . . if I may ask, do you know how long, they have . . ."

"Their . . . relationship began five years ago," Darcy said, lowering his eyes once again. "My uncle would be very displeased, if he knew I was speaking of it to you."

"James said the same thing."

"But Edward, he has brought it on himself, on us all." She could hear the anger vibrating under his apparent calmness. "It is only lately that he has been careless -- perhaps over the last three months. He was always cautious before that. We knew, but it was not -- he was at least considerate of her situation. I understand," he added, "that she rather encouraged him. Well, they were infatuated, and infatuated people sometimes say and do very peculiar things."

Elizabeth thought of what had passed for his courtship, before he proposed to her at Rosings, and could only agree.

James' sermon was excellent -- at least, what she heard of it. Elizabeth knew herself not to be as attentive as she ought to have been, but she was so much more so than nearly everyone else, that she felt somewhat vindicated. She and Jane, seated between Darcy and Lord Fitzwilliam, were well and truly hidden from view, until afterwards. Then the various members of the congregation swarmed over to offer their congratulations and see the earl's nieces with their own curious eyes.

Elizabeth's mouth ached from smiling so long, answering queries, and struggling to keep track of names and faces. The only ones she could clearly recall were their closest neighbours, the Brookes, and Mr Lynch, a queer-looking Irish gentleman, apparently a connection of the Bartons, whoever they might be.

She was briefly separated from the rest of the family, due to the moment she had taken to shut her eyes and regain her composure, and looked around in confusion. One gentleman bumped into her and apologized profusely.

"Miss Fitzwilliam, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Elizabeth said, startled to be so easily recognized. He was about sixty, with delicate, almost womanly features, no doubt very handsome in his youth -- but age had not been especially kind to him. She was drawn to his gentle, easy manner at first, and they talked with some animation once he claimed to know where her family was. Nevertheless, she grew uncomfortable within moments -- she could not say why, or what she distrusted about him, for his very countenance should have vouched for his being amiable. It did not, though; she quickly found herself struggling to remain cordial. She could not tell what was in his eyes, for all his apparent openness, and she did not like it, especially the longer he monopolized her attention.

"Elizabeth?"

She had never been so glad to see Darcy in her life. "Cousin," she said in relief, smiling brilliantly, "there you are. I am not certain what happened, I got separated from the rest."

"My uncle thought you might have." He glanced at the man who had been talking to her, and froze. "Lord Barton."

Lord Barton's manner in response was positively effusive. "Darcy, son," he exclaimed, shaking her cousin's hand enthusiastically. "It has been an age since I have seen you. We have missed you dreadfully, especially Clarissa -- eh?"

Darcy looked more as he had at the Netherfield Ball, when they spoke of Wickham, than how he had responded to the impertinences of Mrs Bennet and Sir William. She realized, quite abruptly, that he was furious at his lordship's remark, his face cold but his eyes blazing. He replied icily, "I really could not say. Elizabeth, are you coming?"

She gratefully took his arm. "Thank you for your conversation, Lord Barton," she said politely.

"A pleasure, my dear," he replied, smiling cheerfully. "Good day, Mr Darcy, Miss Fitzwilliam."

They took their leave, and Darcy seemed very much inclined to walk in silence. She would have let him, if he had not walked so quickly. "I cannot keep up with you, cousin," she exclaimed. He blushed, and regained something of his usual composure.

"I beg your pardon, Elizabeth." He slowed his stride, and then said quietly, "I would . . . be careful of Lord Barton, were I you."

She glanced up at him. "He seemed harmless, Mr Darcy; rather irksome company, but nothing worse."

He hesitated, then said grimly, "That is a -- he is cleverer than he lets on. He is not -- he is not a gentleman, Elizabeth." This was clearly the worst indictment that he could think of. She looked up, but before she could reply, they met with the others.

"What on earth happened to you?" Richard exclaimed. "Grandmamma nearly had an apoplectic fit."

"I had nothing of the kind," the countess said indignantly.

"I was only a little disoriented, and Lord Barton talked at me for awhile, before my cousin rescu -- found me."

Several of the others laughed, pulling her between them and chattering, but she quickly observed that Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam, Edward, and Eleanor's reactions were almost identical to Darcy's. The Fitzwilliams certainly did not seem to want for skeletons in the family closet.

As they walked toward the house, the countess called out, "Elizabeth, my dear, please come and walk with me."

She did so, aware that it was a command rather than a request. There was something peculiar about the lady; perhaps it was that she seemed somehow closer than the others. Elizabeth fancied she could see more of herself in her. The countess did not, except for the eyes, resemble her children or grandchildren --- Mr Darcy and Lady Eleanor had something of her in the shapes of their faces, the high narrow slant of their cheekbones, but no-one else and even they were not very like. Her build was as small and slight as Elizabeth's, and the thin nose and wide lips were her own too.

For a moment, they walked in silence. Then, Lady Fitzwilliam said, "We have not paid you as much mind as we ought to have, Elizabeth. There has been so much happening." She sighed. "You and Cecily were speaking to Charlotte Martin?"

Elizabeth flushed slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Tell me what you think of her, please."

"I can hardly say, we only spoke for a few moments, and she seems very reserved."

Her grandmother looked sideways at her. "You are starting to sound like Jane, dear. A very proper and dull response. I understand from your sister that you are a studier of character?"

"My sister?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Is there someone else?"

"No, no --- I meant Jane. You will always be sisters, to an extent, and you are nearly so now."

"Oh, I see." She considered. "I enjoy other people, I confess, and studying them, but I have --- I am less certain in my judgments than I was."

Lady Fitzwilliam smiled. "What, then, is your opinion of your estimable aunt, Lady Catherine?---Fitzwilliam and Richard say they saw you in Kent."

Elizabeth laughed rather guiltily. "She is your daughter, ma'am; I do not think there is any way to unite civility and sincerity in an answer to that."

The other woman's eyes opened very wide. "Oh no, Elizabeth --- Catherine is my cousin's daughter, and my husband's. She --- my cousin --- was his first wife."

Elizabeth took a moment to sort this out. "Lord Fitzwilliam is your only child?"

The countess hesitated only a moment. "My only living child, yes."

"And Lady Catherine is half-sister to him, and to all the others --- I had no idea."

"Her mother died when she was very small; I tried to care for her as a mother would, but I could not. She was an odd child, plain and not very clever, but spoilt and dictatorial. None of the others were ever fond of her, except Anne. Of course, Anne was fond of everyone, she was very affectionate among the family circle."

Elizabeth had never thought she could pity Lady Catherine, but she could not help a twinge of sympathy. "Only among the family circle?" she asked, her mind drifting to the other aunt, the one she would never know.

"Yes. She was very reserved and aloof in company. I think she probably terrified as many men as she attracted."

"Was she very beautiful then?" She had thought the woman in the miniature lovely, but it was entirely possible that it was not true to life, perhaps even only an imitation of another portrait.

Lady Fitzwilliam smiled slightly. "Ella is the spitting image of her."

"Mr Darcy must be very like his mother, then."

"Yes. It was so difficult, when she died -- we all loved her so much, and it was impossible to stop thinking of her . . . with them always there. Darcy -- your uncle, that is -- could scarcely bear to look at Fitzwilliam and sent him to Catherine at Rosings for, oh, three or four years."

Elizabeth felt an unexpected surge of resentment. Sending him to Lady Catherine indeed! She remembered Eleanor's remarks from -- was it only the afternoon before? Mr Darcy had destroyed nearly all of the paintings of his wife. No wonder she had not seen her at Pemberley. At the time, with so much to consider, she had not given it a second thought. Now, she shivered a little. How could such a man be so highly regarded by so many?

"How could he?" she exclaimed. "If he loved his wife that greatly, surely their child would only be more dear to him?"

"He did not love her," Lady Fitzwilliam replied sadly. "He was infatuated at first, and perhaps she was as well -- although I do not think so -- but it was not very long before they grew to despise one another. It was not always so bad -- sometimes they managed to live together, in an almost friendly fashion -- but not often, and Anne was bitterly unhappy. He was guilt-stricken after she died. He had treated her very badly, after all."

"Treated her badly?" She knew how harsh some men were with their wives, but surely --

"Oh, he never struck her, nothing like that, but -- well, you are very young. Suffice it to say, his behaviour was unexceptional and would have been -- acceptable, if not admirable, had he shown proper consideration for Anne, and not driven her to -- " Her lips thinned.

"Grandmother," Elizabeth asked impulsively, not even needing to think about the proper address, "may I see Lady Anne's portrait?"

Lady Fitzwilliam glanced up and smiled. "Of course. It is in the green parlour, we only use that room for company, which I suppose is why you have not seen it yet. I shall take you right now, if you wish."

"Jane should see her too." She turned back to her cousin. "Jane? Grandmother is going to show me Lady Anne's portrait, would you like to see?"

"Oh, you must," Cecily said enthusiastically. "You have not seen Aunt Anne yet, have you, Je -- Jane?"

"I would love that. Her portrait is here? Fitzwilliam said there are not any at Pemberley."

"Your father returned it to us after she died," Lady Fitzwilliam explained, "and Fitzwilliam has never asked for it."

Cecily and Lady Fitzwilliam led them forward. Elizabeth could not quite comprehend her fascination with this woman. She had been dead for fifteen years, and while it was true that she was Jane's mother and must therefore be an object of interest, that was hardly sufficient explanation. Nevertheless, she lifted her eyes up to the portrait of her aunt with rather more eagerness than even Jane displayed.

It was very obviously a portrait of the Earl Fitzwilliam's daughter, rather than the Master of Pemberley's wife; she was a young lady, a girl really, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old. Lady Anne was astonishingly like Eleanor in looks, but something about her struck Elizabeth as fundamentally different. Perhaps it was the smile -- a faint, restrained smile, but a smile nonetheless; but more it was the pensive, distant expression, a thoughtful gravity more akin to her son than her niece. Even that, though, was not all -- there was something there, but she could not put it into words properly.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. Like her own -- although the colour was different -- Lady Anne's eyes were very slightly tilted upwards. She glanced over at Jane, who unsurprisingly resembled her mother more closely than Elizabeth did. No -- that peculiar, inexplicable quality was not present. Perhaps that was why everyone said she was more Mr Darcy's daughter. She thought she could see something of it in Cecily, and oddly in Edward as well.

"This was painted before your mother married your father, Jane," Lady Fitzwilliam said.

"She looks very happy," Jane observed.

Their grandmother sighed. "She was. I hope you will make better choices, my dear, and perhaps you shall be also."

Elizabeth wondered what this wistfully serene girl had done. She had married Mr Darcy, she had borne him three living children, she had died. And between all that?

"Well," said Cecily firmly, "that's enough of Aunt Anne for now, don't you think? One can only endure so much tragedy before tea-time. I heard Fitzwilliam say something about sending for some of your jewels . . ." With admirable dexterity, she maneuvered Jane out of the room.

"What did she do?" Elizabeth asked softly.

The countess fixed her eyes on her daughter. "You do remind me of her, for all that you look so much like your mother."

Elizabeth's first, ridiculous, thought, was that she hoped that was not why Darcy had been attracted to her. She instantly pushed it aside, and listened eagerly for what Lady Fitzwilliam might say.

"Be on your guard, dear. You are too sensible and too virtuous a girl to fall prey to those who would take advantage of your innocence." She paused, drawing her eyes away, and settling them on Elizabeth. "But you will never be in greater danger than if you are unhappily married. There are men who are drawn to a woman in that position out of pity and sympathy, and are not so much seducers themselves as seduced by their own better feelings, their compassion for you. I daresay that is where it began."

Elizabeth caught her breath. Never had such a thing been spoken of so openly before her, not even in regard to Charlotte and Edward. "Did she . . .?"

"Then there are other men," the countess continued relentlessly. "The sort who have no qualms about using such a woman's loneliness and despair for their own purposes." Somewhat belatedly, she added, "Your uncle would not approve of my telling you this."

That did seem to be the general consensus.

"You met one of those sort of men today."

Elizabeth started. "Lord Barton? Was he Lady Anne's . . ." she fumbled for a word -- "paramour?"

"Yes. It was an unwise decision on her part, but he was, I imagine, very convincing. He had a rather saintly air which he used to good effect; he has had to alter his manner since he lost his looks, and good riddance."

She thought back to what she had seen, then gasped. "He called Mr Darcy ‘son.' "

Lady Fitzwilliam's eyes flashed, but she shook her head with the appearance of calmness. "Anne did nothing until she had given her husband an heir. Barton enjoys baiting him. He wanted her to come away with him, but she would not leave Fitzwilliam."

"What a dreadful, vicious man," Elizabeth said quietly. "Mr Darcy warned me against him. No wonder he was so angry."

"Anne did not, I think, conceal very much from Fitzwilliam, at least by the time he was older. She had no one else."

Elizabeth shivered. This was what had happened to that lovely girl of seventeen.

"It is ridiculous to marry without regard to family and fortune, but worse still without affection that will survive the years," the countess said gently. "Take care of yourself, Elizabeth."

Chapter Seven

Posted on Wednesday, 31 May 2006

"Oh! I beg your pardon." Elizabeth blinked at her most unfamiliar relation. Cecily's brother Henry, who thus far she only knew as not-Darcy, had been locked away in his room from almost the day of their arrival. Cecily said he was occupied with some tedious legal matter.

"No, it is my fault," he assured her, picking up the book he had dropped when they nearly knocked each other down. It looked incredibly dull. As they walked to breakfast, Elizabeth happily marshalling her arguments for her next debate with Darcy, Henry said abruptly, "How are you, really?"

She blinked. "Very well, sir."

He laughed shortly. "Astonishing, given your circumstances."

She caught the note of suspicion and bristled. "It has not affected my health."

He looked startled, then smiled. "It cannot be easy for you, Elizabeth. Jenny and Fitzwilliam at least knew each other; and she has memories. She will probably remember even more once they return to Pemberley. It cannot be so, for you."

Elizabeth was not entirely certain why, but she could not entirely trust the sudden display of sympathy. Her mind, in any case, was primarily fixed on the information embedded within his comment.

"They are returning to Pemberley?" she exclaimed. "When?"

He gave her rather an odd look -- almost calculating. Then his expression returned to its customary neutral state. "I scarcely know, but they shall have to go some time. The Earl may think Fitzwilliam is his own, but they are Darcys and belong with Pemberley."

Surely, she was not imagining the hostility? Fortunately, she was not called upon to respond; they had reached the dining room and separated to opposite ends of the table.

"Ah, Elizabeth," said Lord Fitzwilliam, with a warm smile, "there you are. I hope you have found the library to your liking?"

"Oh yes," she replied, "it is extraordinary."

"You shall have to visit Fitzwilliam's sometime, it is far superior," he remarked, with a glance at his nephew, who coloured slightly.

"It is Pemberley's, not mine -- but my cousin, I believe, has already seen it."

"Yes -- Mrs Reynolds showed us."

"The ancient families have it easier," said the Earl lightly, "you have the work of centuries to draw upon, we must fend for ourselves."

"Who must fend for themselves?" inquired Eleanor, seating herself next to Darcy.

"Your father," said Darcy, "is complaining of his library again. Six generations is such a paltry length of time, sir."

"If you would not give so many away, and hide the rest, you might have more," Eleanor said. "Edward, why are you grimacing at me?"

"It is not you," he said, sounding pained. Elizabeth stole a look at Darcy -- a complacent expression, quickly quelled, flashed across his face.

"You should know by now -- " began Lord Fitzwilliam.

"Please, father, not now. You may lecture me later, right now I will not hear one word out of ten."

"Have some coffee," said Eleanor, not entirely without sympathy, "it will help." She and Darcy looked at one another, clearly restraining themselves from more mature versions of "I told you so."

The others arrived, and soon they all were enjoying an excellent breakfast, and conversing lightly over it. It was only toward the end, that the Earl cleared his throat, obviously preparing to make an announcement.

"We," he said unequivocally, "are attending the Brookes' ball, on the twenty-third."

Even Cecily met this proclamation with silence, and finally, Edward (holding his head) spoke. "Sir, is there a particular reason for this? Surely -- "

"Lord Napier will be there. You understand how important this is?"

All but Elizabeth, Jane, and Darcy nodded, with various degrees of reluctance.

"Jane, Elizabeth," the colonel explained, "Lord Napier is considering a -- an agreement, a reconciliation, of sorts -- with my father and some of his associates." He nodded his head at the earl.

"You are all far too old to require warnings about what constitutes acceptable behaviour," the earl continued, fixing his eyes on his daughter. Eleanor tossed her head and said,

"Oh no; we need only pretend to be what we are not, appear as if we are enjoying activities we detest, and speak not a word of truth -- is not that the height of civility?"

Jane looked merely befuddled, but most of the others tried to look stern. Elizabeth could not completely restrain her smile, how little she might have agreed with the sentiment, and when she glanced upward at Darcy, she could see him equally unsuccessful.

"Ella," James said sharply, "that should not be necessary for bare civility, and if it is, the failing is yours, not society's, or my uncle's."

"My father does not wish us to obey the forms of bare civility, though," she replied, "do you?"

"Eleanor, do not twist my words," said Lord Fitzwilliam tiredly. "You need not pretend an interest you do not feel, you have not the capacity for it in any case; you need only remain polite and agreeable, and I shall be satisfied. And you shall dance, both of you --" his gaze went briefly to Darcy, who looked his most obdurate -- "and not only with each other. All of you, in fact."

"Which of us is assigned to Lady Clarissa, father?" Edward inquired, with a faint sardonic twist of his lips.

"Lady Clarissa," repeated Darcy. "Why, are they to be there?" The distaste with which he spoke, along with her memory of Sunday's conversation, made it clear, to Elizabeth, which ‘they' he meant.

"Yes," said the Earl, "and Henry?"

"Do you wish me to impersonate Fitzwilliam, uncle?" he inquired dryly, with a nod at his cousin, who had turned white.

"Not without his consent."

Elizabeth smothered a burst of laughter, but Jane's quick, horrified look, and Darcy's somewhat gentler expression, made it clear that she had not been entirely successful in concealing her amusement at this.

"*No*, Henry," said Darcy.

"Clara is not so dreadful," Cecily interjected. It was the first time she had spoken, and Elizabeth thought it distinctly odd that she was so much quieter when the others were present, except when overcome by her feelings -- in which case she seemed not even to require breath.

"And that," said her brother decidedly, "is the best thing that can be said of her."

"That is very unkind," said James coolly. "Lady Clarissa is a perfectly unexceptionable young woman. She may not be as clever as we are accustomed to -- " he glanced pointedly at Eleanor and Elizabeth -- "but in most cases, intelligence is far from being considered necessary in ladies."

"Indeed not," replied Eleanor, "if what we are taught at school is anything to go by. A woman, if she has the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can*. Clarissa is simply a superior example of conduct-book propriety than most of us. It is hardly the poor girl's fault her education was so excellent."

"Eleanor," Lord Fitzwilliam said sharply, "that is quite enough."

She subsided, but not without an arch look at Darcy, who smiled a little. He seemed rather preoccupied.

"Fitzwilliam," the Earl continued, "you need not be more than civil. I do not expect -- well, needless to say, I have no expectations on that score, and I am very sorry if you have been encouraged to think such an event was so much as considered on my part."

A bit of colour came into his nephew's face. "I am glad of it, sir."

"Nevertheless, there is no need to snub them, if you -- if you all -- can restrain yourselves." He sighed, then turned to Elizabeth and Jane. "I am very sorry, my dears, this must be quite confusing to you." Jane still seemed utterly perplexed, but Elizabeth felt she understand what had occurred well enough. She enjoyed dancing and felt almost inclined to look forward to the ball; certainly she had not the difficulty the others seemed to, in making herself agreeable. Her anticipation, however, was thoroughly mingled with apprehension. She would have preferred to face the first onslaught of society at a less momentous event. "Do not worry too greatly," the Earl was saying, "I am certain neither of you could be less than amiable and pleasing." He patted Jane's hand and smiled at Elizabeth. Darcy, who had lifted a cup of tea to his lips, choked.

From Sunday they had been warned to expect callers, eager to pay their respects to the Earl and his family, and even more to gawk at his nieces; it was that very day, not long after Elizabeth had returned from her customary walk with Jane, that the first arrived. Most of the family was assembled in the preferred blue parlour, although Jane, the countess, Henry, and James were all shut away, the ladies out of tiredness and the men on business. Elizabeth sat comfortably, absorbed in her newest acquisition from the library, and looking for all the world as if she had spent her life as a Miss Fitzwilliam. Lord Fitzwilliam, Edward, Cecily, and Eleanor were playing cards, Cecily laughing delightedly even as she lost, and Darcy sat a little apart, frowning as he wrote, with his usual deliberation, a letter to his great-uncle.

As soon as the sound of a carriage was heard, however, Cecily dropped her cards and rushed to the window, like a child. "Oh no!" she cried. "I think it's the Stanhopes."

"Good God," said Edward disgustedly.

Elizabeth expected the Earl to correct his son, as he invariably did, but instead he sat very still, frowning down at his cards. She thought he might be preoccupied to hear, and after a moment of hesitation, Eleanor took up the post, and said reprovingly,

"Edward!"

He only laughed at his sister, then pulled on a forbidding expressionless mask just as a servant Elizabeth had not yet seen bowed and murmured, "the Duke of Albini, Lady Alethea Stanhope, and Lady Amelia Stanhope, my lord."

Elizabeth rose in tandem with her cousins and uncle, her eyes eagerly going to the door. She had no doubt that the society in which they moved was simply a more varied and dissolute version of that which she had always known, but new people were always interesting to her.

The duke was a tall, handsome man of about Edward's age, while his two sisters seemed some years his junior; Lady Alethea not more than thirty, and Lady Amelia still younger. The Fitzwilliams greeted them politely, most retreating behind a mask of elegant, but distant, manners.

"Your Grace, Lady Alethea, Lady Amelia," said Lord Fitzwilliam, "this is my niece, Miss Elizabeth Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth, the Duke and his sisters are neighbours of ours; his estate is fifteen miles northwest of here."

The elder two inclined their heads; Lady Amelia however, clapped her hands and cried, "Oh, how wonderful! I was so pleased when I heard you had been returned. You must all be so delighted. You must come to the Brookes' ball, Miss Elizabeth, and then we can show you off to -- oh, everyone!" She ended this effusion with a distinctly inane giggle. Elizabeth's relations all looked uncomfortable, and some of them slightly ill.

With a glance at her uncle, she said politely, "We expect to attend the ball, Lady Amelia."

"How delightful!"

"Ah -- do you intend to be long in the country, your Grace?" Edward, with a slightly desperate look, appealed to the duke.

He glanced briefly at Eleanor. "My plans are not yet set."

"I hope," said the Earl, "that we are to have the pleasure of your company much longer."

The duke smiled. "You shall undoubtedly tire of it by the time we depart."

The visit was a distinctly peculiar one. No one said anything of consequence, the post of civility merely traded between family members on the Fitzwilliam side, but it was nevertheless a good forty-five minutes before the Stanhopes took their leave. The discomfort came from the undercurrents they all felt. Elizabeth was not certain she understood it at all; the duke's lingering glances at Eleanor were easily interpreted, while her coldly insipid behaviour made it clear she returned not an iota of interest. The Earl, however, was more eager to please than she had ever seen him, while the others seemed to be only just conceding to the claims of society. Mr Darcy scarcely opened his lips, and looked more forbidding than ever.

So, she had been mistaken, Elizabeth thought; she had assumed that Mr Darcy's clear disapproval of herself and her neighbours, while in Hertfordshire, sprang from their ‘confined and unvarying' society. His was certainly a singular brand of snobbery, for he seemed to care as little about offending the likes of the Stanhopes as he did her Hertfordshire neighbours. She was almost pleased to see it.

"You are early," Elizabeth remarked. Darcy looked startled, and then flushed a little; she suddenly realized it was the first time either had mentioned, even in implication, that they were in effect rendezvousing. They could have met at other times, but this was the only time it could remain private. Of course, she did the same thing with Jane, walking out in the afternoons and enjoying the opportunity to talk without worrying about who might overhear -- but somehow it was not quite the same. Was it simply the comfort of a familiar face on her part, combined with natural enjoyment of each other's company? She would think so, except -- he had wanted to marry her, despite all the objections he felt so strongly. What if --

She would think about it later. "I -- yes, James had some parish business to conduct," he explained.

"Mrs Taylor? He mentioned her."

"Yes -- I hope I am not intruding?"

Elizabeth shook her head fervently. "Oh, not at all. I was only surprised." She hesitated. "Are you much acquainted with the Stanhopes, sir? I thought -- something seemed rather . . . peculiar, really, about them."

Darcy sat down and began deftly sorting some books as he talked, looking relieved at the change of subject. "Not as well as the others," he said, examining one slender volume. "You were reading this?"

"No, I believe Cecily was."

"Ah. Well, as my home is so far south from the Stanhopes', I did not spend nearly so much time in their company as the others, but I have seen them off-and-on since I was a child. Mother and I visited rather frequently." He set "Belinda" aside and began a new pile. "You noticed, I expect, that my uncle did not seem quite himself."

"Yes, I did. It was only a little -- nobody has said anything -- "

"There is a great deal we do not say; often enough, it is not necessary. We are all familiar with this particular situation, and we would not dare presume to speak of it before him, in any case. If he wishes to be a fool in love, that is his concern."

Elizabeth's brows drew together. "Lady Alethea?"

Darcy nodded, lips tightly compressed.

"Why, she cannot be much older than *you* are!" She blushed. "I beg your pardon, but . . ."

He waved one hand. "You need not guard your tongue with me, Elizabeth. She is young enough to be his daughter -- scarcely older than his daughter, in fact. She has -- pursued him, in her way, for well on -- seven years, since my aunt died."

She had never thought much of the earl's wife; she hardly seemed to exist, and no one spoke of her. "His wife -- was she . . . he must have been very upset, when she died?"

"He was grieved, certainly," said Darcy; "they had grown very fond of one another, they had three children together, she had been a sort of mother to all of us -- it was not, however, as if it had been . . ." He hesitated.

She understood. They had had the ease of familiarity, the affection of long years spent together without rancour, but they had never been in love. "I see. And now, he -- "

"She is handsome, wealthy, and well-connected -- and her interest in him has been unstinting. I daresay it has been no great matter -- he has only lately realized quite what her attention means -- to convince himself that he was in love, and from there -- "

"Well," Elizabeth sighed, "at least it is not Amelia."

Darcy gave a quick, startled laugh. "Indeed, although I never thought of it."

"Sometimes the only comfort one has," she said dryly, "is the knowledge of how much worse things could be."

"True." For several minutes, they subsided into a comfortable silence, the only sound the books as he placed them into neat piles, and the barely-heard bustle of servants. She elected to aid rather than hinder him today, although there was no real purpose to the activity. It was only as they finished piling them, that she summoned enough courage to speak on what truly concerned her.

"Mr Darcy?" she asked, a little nervously. It was impossible to be truly calm in his presence, however pleasant she found the slightly heightened awareness of everything in general, and him in particular, when they were together.

"Yes?" His brow furrowed a little before straightening, and the suspicion, which had never before entered her mind, occurred to her that he did not care for the formality with which she invariably addressed him. It was not a matter she could speak of; perhaps, someday, she might use his Christian one -- his last name alone, even if it did not mean her late uncle to all the Fitzwilliams, was impossible. She could not entirely comprehend why that other name seemed so unbearably intimate, when it was so frequently on her lips, one she herself shared with him -- well, they all did, except Jane and Georgiana. The others were easily James, Henry, Edward -- and Richard. Jane had innocently pointed out that, although she had known Colonel Fitzwilliam before, he had easily become ‘Richard' to her. Elizabeth protested that her acquaintance with Richard was nothing to that with Mr Darcy, but for herself, she knew that her excuse was insufficient. She could only explain to herself that it was too familiar, too -- too something.

"I was wondering, about the ball that we are to go to?"

She could see his fingers tense around the spine of the book he was holding. "Yes?"

"Do you know what is expected of us? Well, of me, of course. This business with Lord Napier -- I do not understand entirely. Nor why -- " she hesitated -- "Lady Clarissa, why it is necessary that one of you . . ."

"Pay her notice?" he supplied. "My uncle is very active in the House of Lords, and has -- some influence, although not as much as he would wish. That was why he so strongly encouraged my parents' marriage, I suppose. In any case, he and Lord Napier have been rivals for quite some time, but are trying to come to an agreement, as their rivalry has only hindered both of them, and they do share some ambitions and ideals. Barton -- " his mouth twisted faintly -- "Lord Barton is his brother-in-law, and Lady Clarissa his -- Napier's -- niece, Barton's stepdaughter and ward."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh, I see." She bit her lip. "Does the Earl expect . . ." She stopped. She did not wish to occasion him more pain, and she could not imagine that even acknowledging Lord Barton's continued existence was less than a punishment to him.

"My uncle has found it difficult to exert more than civility toward Barton," Darcy said, smiling a little. "He certainly expects nothing more of any of us. It would probably be -- best, if Barton has no reason to interest himself in you." He rubbed his fingers over the cover of the book he was holding. "Otherwise, we are to make ourselves agreeable to those whom my uncle is concerned with, and their relations."

"That, fortunately, is not a great trial for me," she said, still burning with unspoken curiosity.

"No," he agreed quietly, with an almost wistful expression. "You are fortunate in that respect."

"Cecily has promised to introduce me to everyone."

Darcy smiled. "I am certain she shall. She is very -- enthusiastic."

Elizabeth laughed outright. "There is no better word for her, although she has been very quiet in company."

"She does not like the Stanhopes, and is I think rather overawed by Edward -- he is usually not here with us so much."

Elizabeth glanced up. Did he mean Miss Martin?

"He prefers town to the country," Darcy added neutrally.

She opened her mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the door opening. Both leapt to their feet, astonished to be interrupted at such an hour. It was Eleanor.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam!" she exclaimed, then added, "Elizabeth," as an afterthought. "I did not know you were here" -- she directed this to him.

"I am usually here at this time," he said.

"I was looking for Elizabeth," Eleanor continued pointedly.

Darcy looked as startled by this as Elizabeth was herself. "Oh?--I will leave you to your conversation, then. Elizabeth, Eleanor." He bowed slightly to both before departing.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," Eleanor said coolly, turning to face her.

"Eleanor," Elizabeth returned, occupying herself with putting her books back. "Excuse me, I did not know anyone else was here at this hour."

"I wished to speak with you." Her abruptness and autocratic manner did nothing to endear her to her cousin, but Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and wondered curiously what on earth the reticent Eleanor wanted from her.

"I see," she said, although she did not; "Is there something particular you wished to say to me?"

"Yes." Eleanor tapped her fingers on the table in front of her. "Elizabeth, I am not entirely certain why you dislike me. At first I thought I must have done something to offend you, but now I realize your manner toward me has been uniform since the beginning. Therefore, it must be something you find reprehensible about me. If you could explain it, I would be much obliged, because I do not care for family quarrels."

"Eleanor, I have not quarreled with you, nor have I intention of doing so!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I am sorry you feel -- "

"There is no need to pretend with me," Eleanor cut in. "Your tolerance for deceit and disguise is not a quality I share."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me. I should not have been so blunt, I suppose. I meant to say, I do not care if you speak forthrightly to me, even if it might be something that gives offence. Do not pretend that this is all in my mind, I know better, and you do as well."

The apology was not especially endearing, as her cousin was clearly far from contrite and only rephrasing what she had said before, in somewhat more tactful terms. "I do not find anything about you particularly reprehensible; I simply do not know you well."

"Oh?" Eleanor turned and stared at her with piercing dark eyes. "I cannot believe it."

"That is your concern, cousin," Elizabeth replied coolly.

Eleanor shrugged. "Very well. I shall see you at breakfast." This last was delivered with perfect unconcern.

Elizabeth nodded.

The older woman headed out of the room, then stopped in the doorway. "Oh, Elizabeth?"

"Yes?" Elizabeth felt she could almost complain of nerves.

"I have no feelings for Fitzwilliam except the purely fraternal, so you need have no worries on that score." Eleanor left the library with a soft swish of skirts, quietly closing the door behind her.

Chapter Eight, part I

Posted on Tuesday, 6 June 2006

"Lizzy, you seem upset."

This was a singular understatement. Elizabeth was livid. "Who does she think she is?" she demanded.

"Lizzy -- "

"If I have been cold, it is hardly comparable to her manners, in any case." Elizabeth looked at Jane. "I know you are keeping yourself back from saying something very sensible, Jane."

Her cousin flushed. "I only thought that if you were cold -- not that you have been -- it would be much more noticeable, because you are so warm and pleasant with everyone, and Eleanor is more reserved in general."

Elizabeth briefly stopped pacing. Judgment without reason had not gotten her very far in the past. She struggled to attain some degree of impartiality. "That is so," she admitted reluctantly. Eleanor, until today, had always been polite, even cordial; the warmth that was lacking in her interactions with Elizabeth was characteristic of her manner toward everyone. Neither could she deny that her first, unthinking reaction had been negative and she had never bothered to reconsider it. She was not obliged to like all of her relations, after all.

"She should not address you as she did, though," Jane added. "It must have been dreadful for you, Lizzy."

This was indubitable. "She did not even apologize for it," Elizabeth said heatedly.

"I thought you said -- "

"It was not what she said that she regretted, it was only how she said it." Elizabeth felt a vague discomfort at this, however, for when she stopped to think, what had offended her had been Eleanor's manner, not the actual substance of her words -- for they were perfectly true. She had always found reserve to be a repulsive quality, although even she could not describe it as reprehensible. What was so was her cousin's disdain for others' feelings. She truly seemed not to care about other people in the slightest.

Even as she thought this, however, she realized it, too, was not entirely true. Eleanor obviously cared, or she would not have brought the subject up; it was clear that she cared for her family, and as mistress of the estate was kind and thoughtful. She was not ill-bred. Rather, it seemed that she did not care about what others thought of her.

Elizabeth felt a prickle of discomfort. She had struggled with personal vanity long enough to -- well, not envy, of course, but certainly to admire Eleanor's complete freedom from it. Envy indeed, she thought angrily.

"You said that it was the last that was the worst?" Jane prodded, with no subtlety whatsoever. Elizabeth laughed.

"Then she had the utter gall to imply that I had designs on -- " She stopped dead, chilled by the realization that the loyalties of her former sister were no longer so undivided as they had once been. She was Miss Darcy as well as Jane.

"On?"

Elizabeth hesitated only a moment. "On the duke, of all people," she fibbed.

"How strange," murmured Jane. "I cannot imagine why she should think such a thing. Is he very handsome?"

"Oh, I suppose so. Not as much as . . . Edward, although they are about the same age."

"Then he must be rather old for you, Lizzy."

"Oh, what is fifteen or twenty years when there are titles and riches to be gained? Eleanor likely thinks so, in any case."

"You said yesterday that she did not seem to look on the duke with favour," the guileless Jane protested.

"I do not suppose she could, with Lady Alethea setting her cap at Lord Fitzwilliam."

"At my uncle? But -- why, he must be nearly sixty, and she is . . . thirty?"

"Apparently, she -- " Elizabeth stopped. "Do you hear that, Jane?"

As they walked, the sound of someone crying plaintively was clearly audible; they rounded a bend, and nearly walked into Georgiana. She sat on a stump, her hair falling down about her shoulders, her head in her hands, and her horse nudging at her head. It would be hard to find a more woebegone picture.

"Georgiana!" Jane cried, and rushed to her sister. "Good heavens, what has happened? Are you hurt?"

Elizabeth approached more sedately, not wishing to intrude.

Georgiana sniffled. "I -- I am going to the ball!" she declared, then began to cry anew. "I shall have to dance!"

Elizabeth was so accustomed to Kitty and Lydia that Georgiana's horror at this prospect took her quite by surprise. Elizabeth, if she were strictly honest with herself, had been too caught up with her own concerns to pay her youngest cousin much mind, except to notice -- with a smile -- how she already doted on Jane, often following her like a tall duckling. Whatever Jane said was taken as gospel truth, and it was perhaps the only thing that gave Elizabeth unalloyed pleasure to see. Cecily was too -- well, Cecily -- while Darcy was so many years the elder, and exerted such force of personality, that he would only ever be father and guardian to Georgiana.

"Well, yes," Jane said gently, "so will we all."

"I hate dancing. I am so tall and clumsy, and I am certain everyone is looking at me, and -- oh, what if I step on his feet?" She shuddered. "Why must I go? I am too young to be out, anyway, and now that you are here, Jane, I shan't even have to worry about one of us marrying well."

Elizabeth sat beside her. "Will your brother not marry well?"

"Probably not at all," Georgiana confessed, "if he can avoid it. Pemberley is not entailed, you know, and it has passed to a sister's children before, they just took the family name. He has no patience with most ‘elegant ladies,' and I know from something Ella said -- or was it Richard? -- that he fell in love with someone very unsuitable in any case, and he is not the sort to forget -- oh, but I was not to say!" Her eyes widened. "You won't mention it?"

Elizabeth had no difficulty whatsoever in gravely assuring her that not a syllable of the secret would pass her lips.

"Anyway, I always thought it would have to be. Not that he ever said as much, but I knew everyone expected . . . well, you understand. But now that doesn't matter, so I don't see why I have to be on display, when everyone is so much handsomer than I am anyway."

"My dear Georgiana," Jane exclaimed, "you are a perfectly lovely girl, and you are not on display, not with all of us attending and dancing."

"Fitzwilliam says that he has to dance too," Georgiana said, playing with her skirt. "And if he has to dance, everyone does."

Elizabeth covered her laughter with a cough, the resulting sound bewildering both cousins. "I can perfectly imagine that his sentiments are . . . exactly that," she said. "With so many people, Georgiana, surely everyone's eyes will be elsewhere?"

She hesitated, a few wayward tears falling down her cheeks. "I -- I do not know if it will be worse, having to dance, or not being asked."

"Of course you will be asked, Georgiana," Elizabeth said firmly. "You are handsome and sensible and sweet-natured -- "

"And rich and well-connected," Georgiana interrupted, the uncharacteristic touch of cynicism startling both Jane and Elizabeth.

"Oh, do not give way to such feelings," Jane said, "they will ruin your happiness."

"Do not become like them," Elizabeth added, clasping the younger girl's hand. "Your brother, and sister, and all of us, we will take care of you from now on -- this is the time to enjoy yourself, Georgiana, even at so harrowing an experience as a ball."

Georgiana smiled shyly. "You are teasing me."

"A little. Now, come, for that beast of yours is starting to chew on your dress, and your brother will be worried about you."

The Brookes' ball was indeed the talk of the house for the next fortnight. Cecily fretted herself into a headache over it.

"Do you think I waltz well enough?" she asked Elizabeth one evening. "I would hate to embarrass myself, or my uncle . . ."

"Well, I scarcely know, I have never see -- wait, Cecily, is it a waltzing ball?"

"Oh yes, it is the latest fashion, you know."

"I -- yes, I know, but I didn't -- no one said -- Cecily, I do not know how to waltz! Nor Jane!"

Cecily blinked. "Oh dear."

"You must teach me."

"One does not waltz with other ladies, Elizabeth."

"No -- oh, where is James? And Jane, I must talk to her -- "

Elizabeth quickly learnt the dance, amid many missteps and much giggling. Even Darcy and Eleanor laughed, with the others, and by then nobody was able to stop. She was deeply grateful that it was James who taught her rather than Darcy, who had been the first suggested -- she was certain she would have had a far more difficult time with him, for there was hardly any freedom from one's partner's gaze in the waltz. It was in effect a private dance, and she was not entirely certain she was looking forward to it.

Callers came and went, politely ogling Elizabeth and Jane. Lord Barton only presumed to call once, and Elizabeth, for one, was grateful Darcy was with Richard at the time. It was difficult enough remaining civil with the unwitting Jane by her side. She could not keep herself from searching the intolerable man's face for any resemblance to her cousin, who had been such a beloved sister for so long that she knew her features better than her own. Fortunately, she could see no such resemblance, and thought the portrait of Mr Darcy that she had seen at Pemberley more like -- although, in truth, she had not looked closely and struggled to properly remember it.

The Brookes were kind and friendly, although a little insipid, and a blessed relief from the others -- old Sir William Everett, who frequently pronounced every lady in the family "monstrous pretty!" (and flirted shamelessly with Lady Fitzwilliam), Lord and Lady Nardin, a young married couple who already seemed utterly disinterested in one another, and the Lord Cecil Duckworths, a family of five who had as much sense and their name implied, and were annoyingly sensitive about the precedence owed them (and just as annoyingly obsequious to the Stanhopes, when they happened across them). Another family, the Blythes, returned home for the winter only six days before the ball, and paid their respects to the Fitzwilliam clan almost immediately upon their arrival. They were the most promising of the lot, an old, wealthy family, with none of the insecurities plaguing the newly titled, but rather the sort of easiness in their well-bred skins that Darcy, alone of all the Fitzwilliams, possessed. Mr Blythe was a widower devoted to his three daughters as he had been devoted to his lady in life; the Miss Blythes were all handsome, polite, and seemed good-humoured. The eldest of these, a quiet young woman of twenty-two or twenty-three, was a particular friend of Cecily's, and though they had not much opportunity to talk, Elizabeth thought she liked her very well.

Darcy entertained her by refusing to so much as speak of the impending event except to perfunctorily ask for one of her dances. At least, he did not refuse outright, but changed the subject on the few occasions when it did come up, and more than once expressed his disinterest in the proceeding except for Georgiana's sake. She knew that he would have preferred to avoid it altogether -- as, Cecily said, was his usual habit -- if he had not felt duty-bound to attend, and preferred to keep a personal eye on his sister -- sisters.

"Letters of business?" Elizabeth inquired one morning, startled to find him pacing the library at six-fifteen, several papers in his hand. He looked abstracted and gave the sort of nod that was no such thing at all -- noticing that she had spoken without being remotely aware of what she had said. "I hope they are not as tedious as Miss Bingley expected?"

At this, he laughed shortly. "Elizabeth -- you are early."

"And you, sir," she returned. "Do you suppose my uncle would think it impertinent if I spent some of my pocket money on a few novels?"

"I very much doubt it," he replied, frowning at a heavily blotted piece of paper. After a moment of hesitation, he announced, "this is from Bingley."

Elizabeth dropped the book she was holding and looked up with a pleased smile. "Mr Bingley? How is he? We have been longing to hear of him."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up. "I had no idea you were so fond of him."

"Oh, I am not -- that is, I do like him, and he was so very kind to us, both Jane and me, when we first discovered what had happened. I hardly know what would have happened except for him. And," she added reluctantly, "his sisters. They were gracious, too."

"Gracious? Miss Bingley? To you?" He seemed to be struggling to assimilate this into his understanding of the world, and failing. Elizabeth burst out laughing.

"Well, she tried, at least. I, er, understand that her brother was feeling slightly less generous than usual at the time."

Darcy smiled to himself. "I see." After a moment, he turned the paper upside-down, his expression clearing slightly, then shook his head. "I think he must have learnt how to write in the dark," he murmured to himself. "It is fortunate his business is so limited." More loudly, he said, "He asks after you both, and -- I think -- sends his best wishes to you both, and hopes he will be permitted to call upon you when we return to town."

"I thought you were going to Pemberley, after the ball," she said in surprise.

"Yes, but I may spend less time there this year -- for Jane's sake. Pemberley is rather remote."

"That comes of owning all the property for so many miles around."

He gave a startled little laugh. "I suppose so. We should be in town by early spring, I think, and I daresay my uncle will take you all there at least as early."

"Well," Elizabeth said decidedly, "I cannot speak for Jane, but I will be delighted to see Mr Bingley."

"Excellent," said Darcy. "He will be very pleased, I think."

Elizabeth hesitated slightly. "As pleased as he will be to see Jane again?"

His eyes lifted to hers, startled into a rare instance of perfect expressiveness. "Perhaps not, but no other lady compares to your -- my -- sister, in his eyes."

She wished the moment had lasted longer; she never knew what he was thinking, and their conversations were always on matters other than themselves. He never abandoned restraint and reserve, not wholly, and she only realized now -- when, for a few seconds, she had seen him without it -- how little she knew of him. Still, she could do what she could for Bingley and Jane. "Nor any gentleman, in Jane's," she said.

"Yet she refused him."

"Oh, but she did not, not really," Elizabeth said passionately, "she only asked for time. She knew better than to give an irrevocable response she might regret later; it was only that at that particular moment, when she needed help so badly, when she had no idea who she was -- she might have been a servant's daughter for all she knew -- she did not dare accept him. She has so delicate a conscience; she could not bear to think of using him, or his feelings for her."

It was only as she finished, he staring at her with intent eyes and high colour, that she realized what she had said, and to whom. Her embarrassment was brief; she was glad, glad she had finally been able to communicate to him something of what she felt, without placing either of them in danger of too much at such a time. Nevertheless she could only meet his wondering, almost incredulous gaze, for a moment before her own skittered away. Hastily he said,

"That is not quite how he understood it, although he did, I believe, consider it an, ehm, conditional refusal -- if such a thing is possible. He does not, however, wish to . . . intrude."

Elizabeth considered. "That is probably wise. This is all a little overwhelming for her."

"For both of you."

She smiled warmly at him. "Yes. But I can at least acknowledge what has gone before. Jane cares far more about others' feelings than her own."

"Yes, I noticed that already."

"So -- " she nodded at the letter -- "you told him of what had been discovered?"

"Yes, some days ago. He deserved to know, I thought, given his role in the matter, and it is far from a secret. He was . . . very surprised."

"I daresay he was." She longed to ask what else Bingley had said about Jane, but checked herself. She was, in fact, more uncertain than she had ever been in her life; she knew not what his feelings were for her, nor hers for him -- but she liked him, she admired him, and she felt herself a better person for having known him. She was bewildered about Jane, who she cared for as much as ever had, but without the same claim to her confidence, and the fact that she was his sister only confused her still farther.

The ladies' dresses were finished in good time, neatly pressed in preparation for the ball, and Eleanor astonished her -- as matters had become even more strained than before between them -- by offering her a gold and emerald necklace that had once belonged to Lady Anne. As Elizabeth had determined to wear the preferred yellow gown over her white one -- against the advice and preference of all the ladies, except Eleanor herself (who had no opinion, or interest, whatsoever on the matter) -- it was far more suitable than her own mother's pearls.

"Thank you, cousin," she said awkwardly, holding the jewels in one hand. It was not the sort of elaborate jewelry their aunt would have worn as mistress of Pemberley, but a young woman's necklace.

"It is nothing," Eleanor said dismissively, her reserve somehow more marked in this moment of unlikely generosity than at any other. "My aunt would have wanted it for you, I am certain. Here -- the clasp is difficult."

Elizabeth was wryly surprised that the entire exchange came off so easily.

"Grandmother, and Aunt Anne, and I all wore it when we were presented at court," said Eleanor, in her usual cool tone. "This seemed as good an opportunity as any for you, it has always been passed around the Fitzwilliam ladies." She curtly inclined her head. "Elizabeth."

"Eleanor."

Cecily pounced on the necklace as soon as she set eyes on it. "Oh, how wonderful, Elizabeth! I shall have to relent on the matter of the gown, for that goes so perfectly with it. Isn't it Aunt Anne's?"

"Yes, I believe so," said Elizabeth. Cecily blinked.

"Fitzwilliam gave it to you?"

Elizabeth blushed. "No, no -- Eleanor. My aunt gave it to her."

"Oh yes -- so she did. I had quite forgotten. Well, you shall look lovely." She glanced at their paired reflections in the mirror, and briefly touched Elizabeth's hair. "You have such lovely curls, Elizabeth, I quite envy you. I hope you break more hearts than you know what to do with. Oh, you must tell me what to wear!"

"You haven't decided yet?"

"For jewelry, silly. Now, mamma's pearls are very pretty, but I think it's a little too colourless, even with the blue ribbons."

"Jane has some sapphires from -- her brother, and I know she does not mean to wear them. Perhaps she might -- "

"Of course! You are a treasure, Elizabeth; how did I ever get along without you?" She dashed out of the room, and Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head. She hardly knew herself.

Cecily's anxiety notwithstanding, the ladies were coiffed and bedecked in layers of silk and petticoats and jewels in excellent time, and stood together as they waited for the gentlemen to emerge, whispering and giggling in anticipation. The young men came out, talking amongst themselves in low voices, and looking even more handsome than usual. As a collective their presence was rather overwhelming. Darcy himself was quite startling enough -- she instantly and easily picked him out, standing half a head above the others -- but all five at once?

The ladies glided down the staircase, rather, Elizabeth thought, like a row of pigeons. Through the bustle of laughter and voices and pelisses, coats, and shawls going around, she once met Darcy's eyes, as held Georgiana's hands in his own and spoke earnestly to her. He looked grave and austere and -- she felt like a sighing girl about to attend her first assembly -- perfectly lovely. The plainness of his attire only threw his striking good looks into sharp relief.

"Elizabeth," he said quietly. It was odd, how she could hear him so well, no matter what was transpiring. "You look very well this evening."

She blushed, pleased with the world and everyone in it, knowing the compliment to be not only heartfelt, but positively extravagant coming from him. And she knew that she did look well, which made it still better. She was suddenly glad she had brought her fan, for if he kept looking at her like that, she would never stop blushing. "So do you, sir," she replied, with shining eyes and a brilliant smile. He laughed outright, colour high and eyes dancing, and with a faint bow, said,

"Thank you, madam, I am very much obliged" -- and they were all on their way, Elizabeth and Jane cheerfully wishing each other well before the latter joined Darcy and Georgiana.

Part II

The ball had yet to begin in earnest when they arrived, precisely on time, but the room was already full of strangers. Elizabeth's fingers unconsciously dug a little into James' arm, as he led her in, and he patted her hand. She took a deep breath, both her brother's warm, reassuring smile, and a laughing look from Cecily, encouraging her. She stood up very straight, lifted her chin up, and glanced around with frank interest as Mr and Mrs Brooke caught sight of them.

"Lord Fitzwilliam, it is an honour!" Mr Brooke said enthusiastically. "We are so delighted you could attend. And Lady Fitzwilliam, your brother asked me to tell you something when you arrived . . . I do not quite remember . . ."

"My brother?" the countess cried. "Theo is here?"

"Oh yes! That is what he wished me to say."

"Two dukes at our ball!" Mrs Brooke looked as faint as a more-than-robust, ruddy-cheeked woman of fifty could. "I am certain his Grace only came for your sake, your ladyship, so we are most indebted to you." She sniffled, then the couple turned to the rest of the family.

"Lord Milton, Lady Eleanor -- ah, Miss Darcy, Miss Elizabeth, I hope you have come prepared to dance. Why, everyone is talking of you, I am certain you shall not want for partners."

"Thank you, sir," Jane said demurely; Elizabeth added, with a sideways glance at Darcy,

"Dancing is a subject which always makes a lady energetic, Mr Brooke; thank you for the opportunity to indulge."

The Brookes beamed. "That is just what I like to hear," declared Mrs Brooke. "Lady Eleanor, I do hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you dance as well?"

Eleanor said long-sufferingly, "Yes, you shall."

"Excellent. Excellent! Well, it is nearly time to begin -- I shall leave you to it, then." The Brookes departed, but scarcely a moment had passed before they were accosted by the Duckworths. Mr Duckworth, Lord and Lady Cecil's eldest son, immediately asked for the honour of Jane's hand in the first dance; his face fell upon hearing that it had already been granted to Edward.

"The third, however, is free," she said earnestly, unable to see anyone's suffering and do nothing about it, and he gladly offered for that one instead. Mr Edgar Duckworth quickly followed suit, then belatedly asked Elizabeth's as well. Eleanor's forbidding expression was sufficient to keep such squeamish youths from presuming to hers.

"Anne!" The cry came upon the heels of the Duckworth boys' -- men's -- inquiries, and all turned to face the source of the sound, a tall man who seemed very hale indeed for one who could not be a day under seventy and was probably closer to eighty. He walked easily with the aid of a cane, and immediately kissed the countess' cheek.

"You will not remember your great-uncle," Lady Fitzwilliam said to Jane and Elizabeth, "but this is my brother, the Duke of Ellsworth."

"Incredible," the duke said loudly, "simply incredible. Why, it defies the imagination. To think of such a thing in our family." He grinned at his sister, who tossed her head.

"Do not be ridiculous, Theo."

He affectionately kissed the girls' cheeks. "Welcome back to the family," he said, with great simplicity. Elizabeth was not one to be overwhelmed by the pomp and grandeur of titles, but nevertheless she could not help but be rather -- startled -- at being where she was. She was rather glad she remained a mere "Miss Elizabeth" -- and even more so (though rather guiltily) that her new relations, their faults notwithstanding, had no tendency to embarrass her in public.

"Allington will want to fuss over you," the duke was telling them, his blue eyes twinkling. "I hope to see a great deal of you before I die."

"You shall live to be an hundred, brother," Lady Fitzwilliam declared. The duke sighed.

"Alas, that is not so far off as it once was." Before he departed, apparently to rejoin ‘Allington,' he said to Eleanor, "Shall we ever see you in Noringham, my dear?" To Elizabeth's surprise, her redoubtable cousin blushed and dropped her eyes as demurely as a girl. The duke chuckled and after a fond farewell to his sister and her descendants, disappeared to another part of the room.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Elizabeth was introduced to more people than she could have ever remembered. These, the Earl insisted, were only their intimate acquaintance.

"If this is intimate," Elizabeth said, "I can only quake in fear at what qualifies as merely friendly." Cecily and Miss Blythe suppressed giggles, and she joined them without further ado. Their commentary was both amusing and informative, and she certainly felt a safety in numbers. Jane remained as composed and placid as ever, even as it quickly became clear how very desirable a match she was, for any young man who could win her good opinion. Elizabeth hoped Mr Bingley knew what he was about, staying away. Among the assorted fops and dandies who posed no danger whatsoever, there were several gentlemen as handsome and amiable as he, and with the added benefit of being able to call their minds their own.

Quickly enough, the first dance began, and Elizabeth accepted Richard's arm. She could see Edward and Jane beginning to dance, looking very handsome together, but although she was beginning to understand, and like, her eldest cousin better, she still preferred the ever-agreeable colonel.

"You are very lovely this evening, Elizabeth," he said easily.

"Thank you," she replied; "we all are looking particularly fine, do not you think?"

"Well, I daresay. You shall certainly not want for partners."

"No, it seems not." Elizabeth smiled a little enigmatically, and said, "I have yet to see the famous Lady Clarissa and her uncle."

"They are fashionably late, I suppose, or will be once they arrive." His brows drew together. "I can only hope Allington manages to occupy Eleanor's attention."

"Allington?"

"The duke's grandson and heir, Lord Allington. He's dancing with her now." Elizabeth turned her head. Eleanor, very elegant in a white gown, stood next to a tall, fair-haired gentleman of about James' age. Both were talking earnestly, and seemed scarcely aware of anyone else.

"Are they . . .?"

"Who knows? It is not like her friendship with Darcy, I can say that much." Richard shrugged. "She knows what she's about most of the time, but she has no patience for Lady Clarissa. It's best to keep her away from the whole lot of them, really, and with her own sort."

"Her own sort? Lord Napier and Lady Clarissa are not elevated enough company for her?"

Richard looked rather puzzled. "No, it isn't that -- rather, the pretending and deception that goes on. She has no talent for it and loathes it other people. All the people she likes are just like her in that respect. Darcy and Allington -- and, oh, Lady Sylvia Wendell is another great friend of hers -- that's the black-haired lady dancing with John Brooke -- the Linleys, Miss Constance Oakley, Brigden, even Mrs Dinmont. A rather motley set, to tell the truth, but not a whiff of disguise about any of them. But there I am, probably driving you out of your mind with boredom."

"Not really," Elizabeth said. "There is so much to know, everything helps."

He shrugged. "I have not talked to you much, Elizabeth, although everyone seems to forget that I, too, knew you as Miss Bennet." There was almost a touch of petulance in his voice and manner. "It's good to see you getting on so well with Cecily, and James too. Have you seen much of my father's library?--I remember, you liked books."

Elizabeth could not restrain herself from smiling vibrantly at this. The meetings were not secret, precisely, but nonetheless she hugged the private knowledge close to herself, and laughed at herself for treasuring the memories of the time spent together there. She was still unsure whether she was in love with Darcy, for so much remained unsaid and unclear, but she knew that she admired him greatly, more than she did any other man, and liked him very much indeed. And although it was the fashion to repudiate the claims of the body, if one did not wallow in them, neither could she ignore how his presence affected her. A slight, casual smile from him did more than David Brooke's most smouldering glances, or John Lucas' passionate kisses on her hand.

"Elizabeth?"

She snapped back to the present, blushing. "I am dreadfully sorry, Richard. I was only -- thinking. Yes, I have seen it, it is very lovely."

"Nothing to Pemberley, of course."

"No," she said, a little wistfully, "but what is?"

Richard grinned. "Quite true. Darcy was lucky -- every disposition of the place already good, plenty of money, and natural taste into the bargain."

"Mr Darcy's good taste is hardly a matter of luck," Elizabeth said, laughing.

"Why not? Neither education nor anyone else's opinions have ever swayed him. He is completely guided by his own reason and intuition. Astonishing he's made as few mistakes as he has, really."

"Mr Darcy, err? You astonish me, cousin."

Richard shook his head. "He should never have concealed Wickham's scrapes from his father. Even Mr Darcy would have seen what he was, had it not been for -- well, that's all water under the bridge now. And he has absolutely no judgment when it comes to other people -- well, he's good with character, but when it comes to guessing what other people feel?--I'd sooner trust Ella, and that, I assure you, is saying something."

"Is it really lack of talent?" Elizabeth asked, knowing her voice to be sharper than she would have liked. "Or lack of inclination?"

Richard's brows went up. "Well," he said good-naturedly, "they are not mutually exclusive, you know. He doesn't bother most of the time, but even when he does he usually gets it horribly wrong. We're all better off if he doesn't interfere in matters of the heart -- he doesn't understand them. Lack of experience on his part, I suppose. He's led a sheltered life for a man in his position. I don't know he manages to be so naïve about some things, and then frighteningly incisive on others. He can spot a fortune-hunter at an hundred yards, but I don't suppose he has any idea of what being in love is like for most people. He never was, before -- but there I go, again, and you probably could not be less interested." Before Elizabeth could protest, the dance ended, and they parted ways.

She danced with Edward next, and enjoyed light, meaningless conversation, utterly free from even the barest hint of flirtation -- simply normal social raillery. He was a clever man, cleverer than she had thought him, but there was a sharpness in him that made her a little uncomfortable. His gaze was pensive, and she guessed that he was thinking of the woman he loved, who would never be welcome at an affair such as this.

Edgar Duckworth was a good dancer, but in other respects, he bore a startling resemblance to Mr Collins. She fled his inane, innuendo-laden conversation as soon as possible.

"Miss Fitzwilliam? Is something wrong?"

Elizabeth managed a faint smile. "Oh no, Miss Duckworth. I just had a bit of a dizzy spell."

"You were dancing with my brother, so it is perfectly understandable," the other lady replied, perfectly grave. Elizabeth swallowed her laughter and managed to fob her off with an excuse, before finding Cecily and Miss Blythe, who were laughing heartily, their dark heads bent together.

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Cecily cried, "I wish you could have heard it -- John was trying to make love to Eleanor, it was the funniest thing!"

"John?"

"Our cousin, John Leigh. He is mad for Eleanor, he and Allington both, it's just like a play. You shall have to meet them, grandmamma says they are about somewhere. Oh, and Lord Everill, Lizzy!"

For a moment she was befuddled, then she remembered the Bible. Her mother had been Miss Everill. "My grandfather?"

"No, he is dead -- Lord Everill is a cousin -- he's unmarried and very handsome. A pity the family estates were entailed to some other relation, or he should have inherited them and he'd be rich too -- not to say he's poor, of course, his mother's father left him a pretty little estate -- five or six thousand a-year, I think -- but it's not the same."

"There he is now," Miss Blythe hissed. "There, do you see?"

Elizabeth obligingly looked, and then smiled. She suspected it was most women's reaction to looking at Lord Everill. He was a tallish, well-built man of about thirty-five, with warm brown eyes, thick reddish-brown curls, and dimples which he displayed readily and easily.

"Lord Everill, I did not know you were expected," Cecily exclaimed, and he turned with a smile.

"Miss Fitzwilliam, Miss Blythe." He glanced quizzically at Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth, may I introduce your cousin, Lord Everill, to you? Lord Everill, Miss Elizabeth Fitzwilliam."

The interest that lit up his face at this was certainly pleasing. "Miss Elizabeth." He bowed. "It is an honour, cousin. I hope I shall see more of you in the future."

This tactful allusion to the kidnapping had all three girls nearly in gales of laughter. They restricted themselves to merry smiles. "I too, sir. I should like to know all my relations."

"You will spend the rest of your days forming new acquaintance, then," he returned. "Forgive my impertinence, Miss Elizabeth -- in recompense, may I have the next set?"

"That, sir, is taken, but the third after that is free," she replied, and blushed when he kissed her hand and departed. Cecily did not even need to speak her thoughts; her arch look said it all for her. Elizabeth laughed.

"I am certain he shall be very agreeable," she said defensively.

"Oh yes -- it is always agreeable when one has connections of that sort -- handsome, good-humoured, ready to be pleased, and eager to be married."

"Cecily!" Miss Brooke exclaimed. "You are embarrassing your cousin."

"Not really," Elizabeth replied, laying a hand on her cousin's arm, "I am accustomed to her now." Cecily gladly took advantage of this amnesty and mocked her mercilessly for the next several minutes -- although she seemed startled when Elizabeth herself joined in.

An hour later, Elizabeth breathlessly detached herself from the crowd a little, enjoying a brief respite. She greeted several new acquaintances with a cheerful smile. Mrs Dinmont talked of her beloved pet's recent indisposition, Lady Sylvia Wendell pointedly asked after James, who was animatedly speaking with Caroline Mary Linley -- apparently the two ladies had enjoyed a long rivalry in all matters of the heart (and apparel -- although Elizabeth occasionally wondered if there was any distinction to be made). She had prepared to return to the ball, her spirits as high as ever, when Miss Brooke materialised at her side, whispering that there was yet another gentleman who wished to be introduced to her. Elizabeth found herself facing a young man of about thirty, neither handsome nor plain, whose manner struck her as apprehensive until he opened his mouth.

"Alistair Osborne Marion Percival Satterthwaite IV at your service, madam," the man said importantly, interrupting Miss Blythe's more conventional introduction. Elizabeth desperately choked back an outburst of laughter at this pronouncement, delivered in a faint but unmistakable Scottish accent.

"It is a pleasure, Mr Satterthwaite," she said politely. Miss Blythe threw her an arch look.

"We are relations, you know," he blurted out. "I remember we used to visit Ashburnham every year -- that was your grandfather's estate, you know. Laura, that was your mother, she was always very kind." He looked at her plaintively.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said in surprise.

"She was generally gone, of course -- with her mother's people. It was terrible to see what happened to the estate after the Burgesses inherited it." He sighed ponderously. "Dreadful common people. Mortgaged it to the hilt in ten years, I shouldn't think. Well, the old families die out with all these tradesmen and their ilk about. It is a pity. You'd have inherited the whole bundle otherwise. Ridiculous thing, entailment."

Elizabeth smiled and said, "My aunt would agree with you."

"Eh? What's that?"

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my aunt -- she thinks the same as you on the subject."

"Ah, well, she would," Mr Satterthwaite said knowledgeably. "Lost the Grey fortune to a slip of a girl thanks to it -- and then the girl went and married nobody at all!" Elizabeth tried to comprehend this peculiar linguistic construction. "Who are the Willoughbys, I ask you? A bare-faced fortune-hunter, that's what that man was -- not more than eight hundred a-year of his own, if that. So poor Lady Catherine had to marry into an upstart family like the de Bourghs. A bad business." He indeed looked thoroughly depressed about it.

Elizabeth coughed, and said sincerely, "I would never have thought of my aunt as particularly unfortunate. She seems remarkably content."

"Well -- well. A fine woman, no doubt. Remarkably handsome in her day, hem." He blushed, and with a dreadfully intent, eager look -- Elizabeth instinctively took two steps backwards, struggling to keep her laughter in check, as she met Miss Brooke's dancing eyes over the slightly-built Mr Satterthwaite's head -- said earnestly, "May I have the honour of the next dance, Miss Fitzwilliam?--it is a waltz. Most fashionable."

"Oh, I -- " Elizabeth floundered. She truly could think of no escape, when another voice said,

"Excuse me, Miss Fitzwilliam, I believe you promised me this dance?"

The newcomer was a young man of about twenty-five or thirty, who appeared only vaguely familiar to her. She was quite certain he had not offered to dance at all with her, but nevertheless she seized on the opportunity.

"Oh, yes; Mr Satterthwaite, I -- " she began, but Satterthwaite, not looking remotely discomposed, deafened all within the vicinity by roaring "Swampi!" as soon as he set eyes on the intruder.

The two young ladies blinked, and Miss Blythe echoed weakly, "Swampi?"

Mr Satterthwaite began a lively recounting of how the near-stranger had come to be saddled with this name, while Elizabeth watched the first waltz begin with equal parts relief and disappointment. Apparently, as a younger man, he had evaded all social duties with the excuse that he was "swamped with business," and the derogatory sobriquet had evolved into affectionate nickname from his friends. Eventually "Swampi" did manage to shake off the enthusiastic Satterthwaite, and said to Elizabeth,

"Forgive my disguise, Miss Fitzwilliam. You appeared in need of rescuing."

"How very gallant of you, M -- er, sir."

"Lord Courtland," he said, with a smile. "Will you repay me with your next free dance?"

"If you like, my lord. Do you always require recompense for your heroic deeds?"

He chuckled. "Generally. Even knights in shining armour, Miss Fitzwilliam, must have some goal to guide their noble pursuits."

"Oh, are you a knight, Lord Courtland?"

"The armour is inconvenient at assemblys such as this." He looked at her in interest as a faint frown knitted her brows together, her mind clearly elsewhere. "Miss Fitzwilliam?"

"I beg your pardon." She turned a dazzling smile on him. "The dance is beginning, sir; I promise, I shall listen to you with the utmost attentiveness, no matter what your conversation." Continued in Next Section